Just a Kiss
by ceruleanblues
Summary: AU. Honestly, it was hard, and more effort than anything to keep in touch. They were busier than ever, with him settled and playing football for the varsity team, and her with the drama club productions, and eventually, the calls and text messages became random, spatial afterthoughts.


**A/N: **So, while I'm still writing the next installment of THA and allowing it to incubate, here's another piece of oneshot.

Enjoy!

xXx  
CeruleanBlues

* * *

**Just a Kiss**

Quinn Fabray watched the bonfire blaze in the black of the summer's night, the orange flames dancing in the nippy breeze, and burrowed her toes deeper into the warmth of the sand. Hugging her knees closer to her chest, she propped her chin up on her arms and closed her eyes, allowing the serenade of ocean waves and the crackling of dried wood to lull her into a calm. Though the day had been scorching—with the sun beating down mercilessly and the remnants of the heat coating her skin with a permanent layer of sheen—this placidity was what she truly lived for.

"Hey."

The corners of her lips twitched in a drowsy grin as she recognized his unmistakable voice—a rich timbre that had deepened in the past couple of years—and she hummed in acknowledgement without lifting her head. "Hey."

"Got you that beer you like so much," he declared, and a second later, she felt the cold surface of the glass bottle against the pads of her fingers, the water droplets from the condensation a nice welcome to her dry palm. "Though for the life of me I have no idea why."

She glanced at him then, tongue cheekily poking out from between her pearly whites. "Because it doesn't taste like the disgusting concoction that you're drinking."

He gasped in mock indignation, his mouth stretched in a perfect circle. "You take that back right now."

"Or else what?" she goaded playfully, their banter a thing as familiar as their long-standing friendship. "Are you going to pull on my pigtails again?"

He scoffed. "We're not eight anymore, Q."

Her features softened at the memories—of kindergarten playgrounds and birthdays and high-school Halloween parties—and then she found herself admiring his profile in the burning embers. He didn't look much different than he did when they had first met in a classroom full of preschoolers. His blonde mop of hair still fell over his forehead in a curtain that fringed his striking green eyes, those plump lips still as prominent as ever, and his cheeks still flushed a deep shade of red at random intervals. When puberty struck, he just got a bit more handsome—the baby fat gone, his jaw sharpening—and his sudden obsession with working out gathered him a nice set of washboard abs, and then her life became one big chick flick cliché; all because he went ahead and became a viable boyfriend candidate.

**Lyin' here with you so close to me  
****It's hard to fight these feelings when it feels so hard to breathe  
****Caught up in this moment  
****Caught up in your smile**

She tore her gaze away and for a while, they sat in companionable silence, staring out at the open sea. Above the horizon, the splatter of stars decorated the velvet sky, and she knew that Sam could name all of the constellations; had memorized them since he was twelve.

"Do you ever feel like you're moving too fast?" he mused out loud. "Like the world keeps spinning and you're just trying to keep up?"

Taking a sip of her lager, she nodded. "Yeah, like you just want to slow things down, put everything on half-speed and just be in the moment."

He inhaled, then exhaled a ragged breath and faced her, bringing his nose barely an inch apart from hers. "Exactly," he murmured. "I don't want this to end."

Her throat had gone dry as she swallowed, all too aware of their proximity and how it was causing some unmentionable fluttering in her stomach. Surely he realized what this was doing to her brain circuits. "Summer?" she rasped.

"Among other things." His voice had taken a huskier tone; intimate.

Coherency was fast failing her.

"Such as?"

"This," he said, sounding wistful. "Us. Being here. And then going away to college."

Her chest constricted at the bitter reminder. Come fall, they were parting ways—her to Yale, him to NYU—and they had avoided it as much as possible because they didn't want the looming premise to taint their time together. It was unspoken, but not forgotten. She dreaded each day that passed; a countdown that she didn't want.

"Come on," she spoke as bravely as possible. "It won't be that bad, right?"

He heaved a sigh and pulled away to sprawl on the beach, arms dramatically flung to his sides, almost thwacking her on the bicep. When all she did was gawk at him like he had just lost his mind, he tugged on her wrist to bring her down.

"Just…lie here for a bit."

Five whole minutes ticked by.

"Are you okay?" she asked, rolling on her side to have a proper look at his face.

"I don't know," he admitted. "I don't know what I'm feeling."

She reached up to shove the hair out of his eyes. "We still have time."

"It's not enough."

* * *

They were packing the last of her boxes into her mom's old station wagon, neatly stacked in the backseat of the car. It still eluded her that she was leaving the next morning—three days earlier than she had planned—and as Sam slammed her door shut, she reckoned he wasn't pleased with the decision. The streetlamp glared overhead, a jarring spotlight to their strained moment.

**I've never opened up to anyone  
****So hard to hold back when I'm holding you in my arms  
****We don't need to rush this  
****Let's just take it slow**

He leaned against the boot, hands jammed into the pockets of his jeans and she came up beside him, their shoulders bumping.

"You suck, Quinn."

She didn't know whether to laugh or to cry at his unexpected remark, but the melancholy in his words resonated in her ears like the crashing sound of broken glass. Refusing to meet his eyes—afraid of the depth of emotions she might find swimming in those expressive emerald orbs—she forced out a breathy chuckle.

"What is it now?"

"I still have a couple of things I'd like us to do," he grumbled, frowning straight ahead at nothing in particular. "You weren't supposed to leave so soon."

A pang of guilt simmered in her gut. "Sam, I've told you—"

"Yeah, yeah," he drawled with a dismissive wave of his hand. "There were some problems with the administration that you need to settle and all that bullshit; I get it."

Her brows furrowed. "What's the problem, then?"

"I just thought—" he paused, raking his long fingers through his thick mane. "I don't—I'm fucking terrified, Q. Shit, I'm scared, and we're going to be so far away that I just—I don't want to lose you."

Her nerves itched to touch him, to physically assure him that she was still there—that it wasn't the end—but she kept her palms pressed to the vehicle to anchor herself. "You're not going to lose me," she promised, determined yet uncertain.

"You're going to move on and do amazing things," he told her earnestly, tenderness in his gaze. "You're going to find some lucky bastard and fall in love with him, and you're both going to get married one day and live somewhere in Kentucky and have a family, and I'd be totally lost without you."

She stifled the sob that threatened to escape. "Sam…"

He took a step to stand directly in front of her, entangling his fingers in her hair as he cupped the side of her face. "I don't want you to go."

"One day, you're going to leave me too," she whispered. "You're going to move on and forget about me."

"No," he croaked. "Not you."

Quinn attempted to break free but he held on, and she released an involuntary whimper of protest. "Who are we trying to fool here, Sam? We're both going to grow up and things will change, whether we want it to or not—"

**Just a kiss on your lips in the moonlight  
****Just a touch of the fire burning so bright  
****No I don't want to mess this thing up  
****I don't want to push too far**

He kissed her then, a gentle brush of lips that she barely felt and was over all too soon. Their foreheads met and he was breathing against her cheek, short puffs of warm air tickling her skin. Tears clouded her vision; it was everything and nothing, encapsulated in a fleeting moment.

She hated it.

"You shouldn't have done that."

Tracing the bridge of her nose with the tip of his, he said, "I know."

"You're only going to make things complicated."

He gulped. "I know."

"I'm still leaving first thing in the morning."

His short nails scraped the back of her scalp. "I know."

She ran out of things to say, and opted not to say anything more.

But then, he did.

"I love you."

There was a catch in her windpipe, her heart thudding dangerously in her ribcage, and she blinked once, twice, and still she thought she might have imagined it. He was waiting patiently, expectantly, hopeful and utterly vulnerable, and she was still searching for a response.

"I know."

**Just a shot in the dark that you just might  
****Be the one I've been waiting for my whole life  
****So baby I'm alright, with just a kiss goodnight**

* * *

The bid farewell was less than dramatic; for that she was thankful, because she didn't think she could make the drive if she fell apart right there in his arms. She tried not to look back—to stare at his retreating reflection in her rearview mirror—and resisted the urge to turn the car around. Tightening her grip around the steering wheel, she kept her eyes peeled on the road ahead.

It was lonely, with the radio to keep her company, and when she made a pit stop three hours later to use the loo at a gas station and to fill up on her tank, she almost reached for her cellphone to dial his number, only to hesitate when her thumb hovered over the screen. Thinking of him—wondering what he was doing—stung, and for the umpteenth time that morning, she berated herself for it, especially since they were both supposed to be moving on and growing up.

She bought a sandwich and two bottles of root beer, remembering to stock up on chips and chocolates enough to last her till dinner before hitting the highway once again. Their bloody song came on all of a sudden, and in a frantic battle to change the station, she narrowly missed driving into a ditch.

"Fuck," she gasped, swerving the car back on the road. "Damn it."

* * *

Quinn pulled into a diner at eight o'clock with only four more miles to go, but her stomach was growling for a nice, hot meal, even the tacky neon sign couldn't keep her away. It wasn't until she had placed her order with the waitress that she checked on her text messages. Her mom would probably work herself up in a nervous wreck if she didn't call to keep her updated, and it would save her the humiliation if her face didn't appear on national television, thank you very much.

True enough, there were a couple of voicemails from Judy Fabray—mostly reminding her to be safe and to always use protection, as though fucking every college guy on campus was her first priority—to which she merely replied her acknowledgments through the answering machine. Sam had sent her five brief messages, including a selfie of him eating a bowl of cereal, and it only took three rings before he answered his phone.

"You all right?" he blurted out, sounding more than concerned.

She chuckled humorlessly. "I'm always all right."

"How is New Haven?"

The server returned with her food and placed it politely on the table. Quinn thanked her before picking up her fork to eat. "It's rather quaint, I suppose," she continued in reply to his previous question. "I would say it's kitschy but I'm not seeing a jukebox in here, so that's that."

"Doesn't sound like Yale."

"That's because I'm not there," she said, spearing a fry. "I'm having dinner at a place called TARDIS. It's kind of like a British invasion or something; I'm actually eating a plate of fish and chips."

He laughed—a real one in the past week—and her lips curved upwards in their own accord. "Are you sure you drove in the right direction?"

"I'm about fifteen minutes away, so…"

The awkwardness that entailed made her lose some of her appetite, and she dropped her utensils with a loud clank. From the other end of the line, she could only hear his deep breathing and something shuffling in the background.

"You'll call me when you get there, right?"

The hopeful tinge in his tone was her undoing.

"Of course."

* * *

Honestly, it was hard, and more effort than anything to keep in touch. They were busier than ever, with him settled and playing football for the varsity team, and her with the drama club productions, and eventually, the calls and text messages became random, spatial afterthoughts. It wasn't on purpose—she hadn't meant to be so caught up with the theatre—but then the holidays were rolling by, and she had to deal with her mother pestering her to come home for Christmas and Thanksgiving.

She hadn't heard from Sam in two weeks—the Bulldogs had yet to face the Violets in a game—and she wondered more often than not if he was flying back because he hated the long drive to Ohio. His gift was tucked in a corner of her dorm room—had been sitting there for a month now—though the bigger surprise for her, was finding him perched on her bed with a duffel bag by his feet two days before she was set to leave. Disregarding the fact that he was wearing the colors of a rival college, she dropped her things and launched herself into his awaiting arms. He hummed contentedly, lifting her off her feet.

**I know that if we give this a little time  
****It'll only bring us closer to the love we wanna find  
****It's never felt so real, no it's never felt so right**

"What are you doing here?" she breathed into the side of his neck, basking in the musky scent of his cologne in reminiscence as he set her down properly again.

Even so, he hung on tightly, not wanting to let go. "I missed you."

"We're going to see each other over the weekend," she giggled, her nose nuzzling the juncture of his shoulder.

"Couldn't wait that long."

* * *

They took turns behind the wheel, stopping twice in between to fill up on gas and a meal. The roads were slightly crowded—everybody seemed to be making their way home for the holidays—and they finally arrived in Lima at a half past nine, completely knackered from the journey. She invited him in—too exhausted to do anything else—and after a quick yell to her mom that she was home—and that Sam was staying the night—he gave her a chaste peck on the lips in parting before trudging towards the guest bedroom.

Shell-shocked and a bit dumbstruck, she froze stupidly in the hallway until she heard footsteps as Judy Fabray padded down the stairs.

"You all right, Quinn?"

She blinked out of her stupor.

"I'm always all right, mom."

* * *

The turkey was a little burnt, and somehow so were the potatoes, but the veggie casserole came out fine, which was bloody hilarious, now that she thought about it. Sam and his family were scheduled to arrive at any minute, and she wasn't amused. When her mother arrived home from church to witness the disaster, she couldn't stop laughing for a good ten minutes.

"Oh, sweetheart," she had crooned sympathetically. "It's the thought that counts; the spirit of Thanksgiving. So the roast is a little charred at the side, but it's still edible. You didn't accidentally mix rat poison in the stuffing, did you?"

Quinn hadn't spoken to her mom since, and when the Evans clan settled round the dining table to sample her subpar culinary skills, all she wanted to do was crawl in a hole and die. For the most part, everybody kept their opinions to themselves, offering generic comments instead, but Stevie had taken a bite of the meat and winced.

Mary Evans had baked an immaculate strawberry pie with whipped cream for dessert, and after that, everybody seemed to have forgotten about her vile meal. They moved into the common area where the children watched some cartoons and all the adults discussed the pastor's sermon; so distracted, nobody noticed when Sam took her hand and led her out into the backyard.

"Wait," she stopped short. "I should grab a coat or something—"

"I've got blankets," he informed her, holding up the thick stack of quilts draped over one arm. "We'll be fine."

Snuggled together under the night sky—the stars not as bright as they had been at the beach—Quinn burrowed further into his warmth. His arms went around her petite frame, pulling her closer, his nose deep in her hair.

"I ruined dinner, didn't I?" she mumbled miserably.

"No, you didn't."

She felt her face burn with embarrassment. "You don't have to butter me up, Sam."

"Okay, so the turkey could do with a little less of the oven and the potatoes shouldn't have been halfway mashed," he told her honestly. "But we all appreciate what you've done, Q. It was a great effort above all, and that's what really counts."

She narrowed her hazel eyes at him. "Did you even swallow a bite?"

"I'll have you know that I polished off a plate and still had seconds," he huffed. "If I get food poisoning tomorrow and don't make it, please let my mother know that I love her."

Her palm reflexively shot out to smack him in the middle of his chest. "Jerk."

"Idiot."

It was a term of endearment, one that he only used in the rare occasion, and she was practically putty in his hold. The double glasses of red wine swirled in her veins, the blood whooshing to the tips of her ears in a heady sensation. Her low tolerance for alcohol was a bitch, truly; she couldn't have been inebriated already. That would be absolutely rubbish, but that was the only thing that she could associate the fuzzy feeling in her stomach to.

"I won't be here for Christmas."

Brows furrowed, she gathered the material of his soft T-shirt in a tight fist. "What do you mean?"

"My flight back to New York is on Wednesday," he explained. "Everything else is fully booked till the fifth of January."

She sat up, then, glaring down at him. "Well then, drive the car or take the fucking Greyhound, for God's sake. It's the holidays and I don't get to spend it with you?"

"Quinn—"

"Don't you 'Quinn' me," she snapped, positively fuming. "I can't believe you!"

He propped his weight up on an elbow, one hand extended out in a placating gesture that she rather loathed. "Okay, look, I'm sorry, and I know I promised you that I'd stay—"

"Don't," she warned venomously. "Just don't."

"I—It's—" he floundered, desperately grasping onto words he could use. "I don't even—why are you so mad, anyway? It's not my fault, Quinn. I can't help it if the entire country seems to be migrating to fucking New York, can I?"

"You could've found another way."

His mouth fell slack and then clicked shut, and she was only vaguely aware of the tears streaming down her face. A look of resignation crossed his boyish features, and she was suddenly so tired of the trying and the struggle in their long-distanced friendship or whatever it was between them.

"You feel it too don't you, Sam?"

It took a while before he was brave enough to glance at her. "Feel what?"

"The end of our road."

He was devastated, and she wasn't that far off, her heart shattering into a million tiny pieces—irreparable, unfixable—and it was all too much. Tearing her eyes away from the anguish flaring in his, she jumped to her feet and fled.

* * *

It was much too cold to be sitting out on the porch swing with a tragic novel in her lap but winter had always been her favorite season, so she welcomed the biting wind against her skin and the snotty nose for the placid streets and snowdrifts. Feet folded beneath her, she shifted to get comfortable and flipped another page.

A car rolled by and pulled up along the sidewalk. She watched as Sam Evans hopped out of the ratty old thing, bundled up in a thick parka, his cheeks a brilliant shade of crimson. His boots created imprints on the pavement; his captivating green eyes a stark contrast against the wash of white background.

"What are you doing here?"

He paused on his next step, and she had to bite on her tongue before she could do more damage than good. Jaws clenched, a flicker of hurt crossed his features, but then he was reaching into the pocket of his jacket and extracting a slim box, neatly wrapped and tied with a ribbon.

"Merry early Christmas, Quinn," he husked, practically shoving the gift into her hands in his haste to take off.

"Sam—"

"I'll see you soon."

**Just a kiss on your lips in the moonlight  
****Just a touch of the fire burning so bright  
****No I don't want to mess this thing up  
****I don't want to push too far**

Cradling her face between his gloved palms, he dove in to seize her lips in a forceful kiss—one that left her reeling and wanting more. Her head spun when he released her, but when she lifted her eyelids, gasping for air, all she saw was his departing back as he walked away.

"Sam!"

And then she was chasing after him, barely noticing the slush seeping into her sheepskin moccasins as he turned and caught her in a searing embrace. He buried his nose in the soft spot below her ear, his arms circling possessively around her torso, his huge hands splayed across the small expanse between her shoulder blades.

"Quinn…"

"I'll see you soon."

**Just a shot in the dark that you just might  
****Be the one I've been waiting for my whole life  
****So baby I'm alright, with just a kiss goodnight**

* * *

When the clock struck midnight to usher in the New Year, her cellphone rang amidst party poppers and fireworks. She was standing in the city square, the crowd celebrating all around her, cheers and gleeful dancing, confetti showering down in colorful streams of paper. Amongst the mass of bobbing heads, Quinn spotted Brittany S. Pierce's bright blonde hair, her long arms flailing about, and reckoned the girl was safe enough to be left to her devices.

Dodging through the throng, she found a quiet spot to answer the call.

"Happy New Year, Q."

There was a smile in his voice and she couldn't hold back her own megawatt grin.

"Happy New Year, Sam."

**No I don't want to say goodnight  
****I know it's time to leave, but you'll be in my dreams**

* * *

She was swamped till spring with the production of West Side Story, and was practically going crazy simply by listening to Rachel Berry's incessant yapping alone. It was a day till the opening and there was more madness than ever. By the time Quinn had crawled into bed that night, she had barely taken off her shoes before collapsing onto her soft duvet.

The show itself was a success, of course—Rachel wouldn't settle for anything less than perfection—and they were off to a good start. Being on stage, with the spotlight in her eyes and the audience in the seats, was a magical feeling. She sang and danced and swayed, the adrenalin coursing through her veins, and the overwhelming emotions were addictive. When the curtain fell after the final bow, she was completely breathless.

And then she turned.

And he was there, waiting patiently in the wings—dressed to the nines and hair shorter than she remembered—looking so very proud of her.

"Sam!"

* * *

Later, she would come to regret it, for so many obvious reasons, because really, she had only meant to hop in, change out of her costume and pop back out so that they could catch up with some supper, but when she heard the click of the lock on the door, anything else pertaining to dessert and coffee flew out of her mind.

**Just a kiss on your lips in the moonlight  
****Just a touch of the fire burning so bright  
****No I don't want to mess this thing up  
****I don't want to push too far**

The dressing room wasn't ideal in the least—anybody could come knocking—and it was a rather stuffy little space, especially with the faulty air conditioner. She cleared throat, preparing to admonish whatever plans he had going on in that head of his, however the words were trapped in her throat when she felt his finger skate down the length of her spine. It sent a shockwave through her body, and she shivered.

"You were amazing out there," he crooned, tracing patterns down the side of her hips. His mere presence was intoxicating, coupled with the musky scent of his cologne and the way his hot breath hit the nape of her neck with every word. "Couldn't take my eyes off you for a second."

Subconsciously, she leaned back into him. "Sam, we shouldn't—"

"Why?" he growled, dropping a kiss to her shoulder.

"You're only going to make things complicated."

He hummed against her heated flesh, his tongue darting out to sample the spot behind her ear, and she had to suppress a whimper. "I know."

"It's going to change everything," she managed to grate out between his delicious ministrations.

"I know."

"But we can't—"

He spun her around in his arms, the desire blazing in his eyes as he stared right back into hers, no mistaking his apparent intentions. Fiercely passionate, he pressed their foreheads together, chests heaving in tandem.

"I love you."

Her heart soared.

"I know."

"You have no idea how long I've waited—"

"I do, and I want it too."

And then it was a frenzy of movements. He tugged on the ribbon around her waist, releasing the fabric of her dress when he slid the straps down her arms, and watched in delight as it pooled around her feet, leaving her in nothing but a matching set of black-laced lingerie. To even the playing field, she unbuckled, unbuttoned and unzipped his trousers as he worked meticulously to rid himself of the sky-blue Oxford, and then they were tumbling onto the stray couch in a tangle of limbs and tongue and sloppy kisses. Stretched out across the sofa, their touches wandered, fingernails digging to find purchase as they clung on helplessly, until he skimmed over the apex between her thighs.

**Just a shot in the dark that you just might  
****Be the one I've been waiting for my whole life  
****So baby I'm alright, oh, let's do this right, with just a kiss goodnight  
****With a kiss goodnight**

"Sam!" she cried out, a little too loudly.

He shushed her, smirking as she squirmed impatiently when his fingers edged over the waistband of her knickers. She groaned out a long string of curses and half-hearted threats to sock him on the balls if he didn't give her the relief that she so needed urgently. With a flick of his wrist, her underwear was tossed carelessly aside. The cool air hit her slicked center, tickling her over-sensitized sex, and he trailed a digit tantalizingly down her folds until his resolve cracked and he all but sank in.

"Oh, fuck!"

"Shit, Q."

He began pumping enthusiastically in and out, heightening her pleasure points enough, it was impossible to actually hold back anything that wasn't a gasp, a sigh or a moan.

"Sam, if you don't fuck me right now I swear to God—"

"You're so sexy when you cuss," he grunted.

She wasn't entirely sure when he had stripped himself of his boxers, but then he was hovering over her, hands braced on either side of her head, his stiff manhood prodding at her entrance, her golden locks fanning out against the leather, and grinning softly down at her.

"You all right?"

Gnawing on her bottom lip, she gazed up into his handsome face, feeling a whoosh of emotions right down to her core.

"I'm always all right."

**Kiss goodnight**

* * *

**A/N:** The end! So there it is; a oneshot with a bit of a storyline and fluff and smut; nothing too horrible and nothing too sweet. I have a 4-parter in the mix—something adventurous for Sam and Quinn—as well as THA that's obviously still going on, so that should keep me pretty busy for a while. Cheers!

Song used: "Just a Kiss" by Lady Antebellum


End file.
